


sunlight on a broken column

by kbaycolt



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Darkest Timeline, Gen, Graphic Descriptions of Injuries, Grief/Mourning, Hospitals, Injury, Overstimulation, Self-Harm, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29648682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kbaycolt/pseuds/kbaycolt
Summary: It all happened so fast. Annie tripping, the gun firing. Pierce, collapsing with a pained wail, blood splattering across Shirley's apron. The way the flames billowed like fog across the wooden floorboards.All because Abed wasn't fast enough. Abed didn't catch the die.* * *The Darkest Timeline, in the immediate aftermath.
Relationships: Shirley Bennett & Annie Edison & Abed Nadir & Britta Perry
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	sunlight on a broken column

**Author's Note:**

> title from The Hollow Men by T.S. Eliot

Abed hates hospitals.

From the blindingly white floors and crisp fluorescent lights overhead, to the sterile, sour scents of disinfectant and illness; everything about hospitals is sensory hell. Not even mentioning the doctors, with their incessant _touching_ and _prodding_ and complete disregard of his personal boundaries. Abed has never met one single healthcare professional who both noticed and respected his obvious neurodivergency. He hates going to hospitals, and seeing doctors, and really really does not want to be here right now.

But Annie is clutching his hand so tightly he thinks he might be losing circulation, and if for no other reason, he knows he should probably stay for Annie's sake. Leaving abruptly might push her over the edge.

He doesn't know what he'll do if they lose another person tonight.

* * *

They're in the hospital waiting room. It's quieter than he thought it would be, thankfully. The chairs are uncomfortable and the lights are still too bright and the nurses seem to be steadfastly ignoring the four of them.

Them, being himself, Annie, Britta, and Shirley.

He sits with his shoulders hunched, tapping the arm of his chair with each fingernail in turn, quick as raindrops. He thinks he might be rocking back and forth as well. It's hard to tell, what with the way Annie is clutching his arm, murmuring soft reassurances to him, or maybe to herself. She's talking so fast and so soft it's hard to be certain.

Annie's hair is frazzled and loose, hanging past her face in strands of brown. Her clothes are ruined, stained with ash and blood. She's shaking violently.

Next to her is Britta. She appears to be more put together than Annie. But Abed notices the tension in her shoulders, how she bounces her knee and keeps rubbing her hand together and the tight, worried pinch of her lips. She, too, has streaks of ash on her face and shirt, though the gray of the material helps it blend in some.

Shirley is deathly still. In shock, maybe. Abed isn't the one majoring in hospital administration. Shirley took off her apron a few minutes ago, and now has it folded in her lap, the bloodstained side turned inwards. The first thing she did upon arriving to the hospital was wash Pierce's blood off of her face.

Abed switches up the tempo of his tapping, trying to find one that soothes him more. It isn't working.

He's busy, anyway. He's rewinding to the beginning of the evening, before everything went to hell. Where did he go wrong? What happened that was preventable? How can he stop something like this from happening again?

Perhaps it started with Jeff's roll of the die. The creation of the six timelines. Abed can't be sure if their timeline is the right one, or if they're a branch from the Prime Timeline, where everything went right and his parallel self isn't sitting in the hospital waiting room with three traumatized women and three of his other friends slipping closer towards death with every second that passes by.

Too morbid. Rewind. Abed considers that perhaps it was his and Troy's fault, for agreeing on Yahtzee as the game. If they had simply not picked a game with dice involved, they would have chosen the pizza getter in another way, one that wouldn't have sent everything spiraling into chaos.

Even further back, perhaps moving in together was their first mistake. Best friends should never move in together. He knows that when friends move in together, their habits become infuriating, what was endearing quickly turns annoying, and the affection of the friendship crumbles under the strain. He knows how this goes. But he decided he wanted to live with Troy anyway.

Regardless of precisely which moment was their downfall, Abed knows one thing is for certain: every step of the way, no matter what, this is his fault, and his alone.

* * *

It had all happened so fast. Annie tripping, the gun firing. Pierce, collapsing with a pained wail, blood splattering across Shirley's apron. The way the flames billowed like fog across the wooden floorboards.

All because Abed wasn't fast enough. Abed didn't catch the die.

(If Troy, or Jeff, or Pierce dies tonight - the blame will fall on Abed's shoulders. He supposes he was always the villain of their story, after all.)

* * *

_Guys,_ Britta says, shattering the silence with the hoarse word. They all look at her. Abed notes the way she compulsively flattens her palms to her jeans, as if to calm herself. _It's going to be okay._

Abed isn't sure how likely that is, but he recognizes the attempt at comfort for what it is. It's not very effective, but, well. Since when has it ever been.

_It's going to be okay,_ Britta repeats, forcefully. _It was an accident. The paramedics said Jeff and Troy had very high chances of pulling through. They're strong, okay? We're not going to let one accident bring us down. We're going to get through this._

Silence. Annie's grip on Abed tightens.

_And we don't know about Pierce yet, but it's okay._ She's still talking, despite the way no one is responding. Abed used to find that tendency somewhat respectable; now, it's grating. _He's not going to let us get rid of him that easy, right?_

That must have been the wrong thing to say, because Annie starts making a high-pitched keening noise in her throat, eyes squeezed shut and fingers digging into Abed's elbow hard enough to bruise. Britta makes a helpless sound. He moves to pull his arm away, and when she doesn't let go, he yanks, forcing her to release him.

Annie recoils, whimpering, and buries her face in her hands. She begins to sob.

_You were hurting me,_ Abed tries to explain.

But as the volume of her crying escalates into a broken wail, his words are lost in the awful noise, until he starts to feel a low whine of his own building inside him, and he makes the split-second decision to launch himself out of his chair and bolt down the hall into the men's bathroom.

The door swings shut behind him with a jarring clang. His whole body flinches. Hands fluttering, his breath stuttering in his chest, he goes to the end of the stalls and locks himself into the very last one, sliding to the floor and pressing himself into the corner to cover his ears. The scream in his throat hurts, it hurts so badly, but he clamps his lips shut and forces himself to be quiet. He needs to stave off this meltdown until he gets home.

Home. He doesn't have a home anymore. Apartment 303 has been rendered unlivable until future notice, with all the fire and ash and blood. He'll need to get a dorm at Greendale again, or maybe live with one of his friends. Maybe Jeff could return the favor from when he lost his house in their freshman year.

If Jeff lives through the night.

Abed hits his head against the wall. Once. Twice. Three times. His teeth are vibrating. A dull ache flares up at the base of his skull.

High chances, he reminds himself, pressing his hands against his ears harder, pulling his knees up to his chest. He hits his head again. The paramedics said high, strong chances of survival. For both Jeff and Troy. Not Pierce. No one's heard anything about Pierce.

He doesn't know how much blood someone can lose before dying, but he thinks of the blood splattered across Shirley's face, the blood sticky on his hands and on the floor, the ashen pallor of Pierce's skin as the paramedics wheeled him into the ambulance. Two pints, at least, possibly three. Enough to coat his and Annie's hands in bright, artery crimson.

Abed didn't get to see Troy's injuries, not fully. He had been too busy frantically scratching the drying blood from his palms to see the aftermath of swallowing a lump of flaming wax and plastic, but his mind freely fills in the gaps; he pictures Troy coughing up strips of burned flesh that have peeled from the inside of his throat, little bits of wax and blood mingling in the viscera that dribbles down his lips and chin. He pictures Troy's voice box charring like roasted duck, blackening and bubbling with heat.

He bangs his head on the wall, harder, feeling the painful rattle of the sensation throughout his upper body. His hands hurt. Everything hurts.

He doesn't want to _be_ here.

* * *

Britta comes and gets him a few minutes later. Annie has stopped crying, though her face is still red and puffy, evidence, and has taken up pacing back and forth, occasionally asking the nurse about their friends' conditions. She never gets any answers, but she doesn't stop asking. Her footsteps click click click on the linoleum.

Abed sits down next to Shirley this time. It's closer to the corner, and situates him so he can see the whole room with the wall to his back.

Shirley is praying, fervent and low, clutching her cross. _He lays me down in green pastures; He leads me beside still waters. He revives my soul; He directs me in paths of righteousness for the sake of His Name. Though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me..._

Abed hasn't prayed, truly prayed, as he was raised by his father, in many years. He doesn't think he's going to start now.

Outside the window, the night is still and cold. He can't read any of the clocks in the waiting room, so he doesn't know what the time is, but he figures it must be somewhere around two in the morning. Troy and Jeff are either still in surgery or recovering. Time passes oddly, in this liminal space of tacky magazines, floral wallpaper, and the tangy odor of cleaning chemicals. Abed listens to Shirley pray. He waits.

* * *

A doctor walks up to them. She's young, with a white coat and a clipboard and whole getup. Annie and Britta sit up instantly, while Shirley just presses her cross closer to her chest in anticipation. Her name tag reads Dr. Penn.

_Are you Pierce Hawthorne's friends?_ she asks.

_Yeah,_ Britta says. _Is he okay?_

Dr. Penn hesitates for only a moment.

And Abed knows.

_I'm afraid Mr. Hawthorne has passed away... I'm very sorry for your loss..._

He tunes out the rest of it. Reaches up, clasps his hands over his ears. Shuts his eyes when Annie begins to wail, grief-stricken and shattered and guilty, and Shirley's prayers grow desperate in pitch, and Britta starts begging Dr. Penn for details about Troy and Jeff. Hunches over, presses his forehead to his knees. Holds his breath.

Turns over in his head, compulsively, the last thing Pierce said to them. _I'm dying. I'm dying._ Over and over, yelling it. Voice cracking. _I'm dying. I'm dying._

Pierce had been right, then. He was dying. It turns out that the first time Pierce was right about something, was also the _last_ time he was right about something.

Poetic, in a way. Abed can appreciate narrative poetry. He hopes Jeff and Troy don't die tonight, too. _Everyone get out of here, go, the building's gonna collapse_ and hysterical screaming don't make for nearly as satisfying final words, for a good death scene.

* * *

While Abed hadn't gotten a glimpse of Troy's injuries, he had seen a brief flash of Jeff's. Ugly, angry red burns wrapping around his shoulder. Melted fabric fused to his skin where he couldn't rip off his shirt in time.

Abed doesn't want Jeff to lose his arm, of course.

But if he did, then Abed would get the chance to design a robotic prosthetic for him. One that could latch on to his shoulder perfectly, that reattaches severed nerves seamlessly and gives him back a full range of motion. It could do cool things, too, like shoot electricity or contain the strength of kicks instead of punches.

Maybe not that last part. Still. Abed stares at his shoes and the floor and thinks that Jeff probably wouldn't find it as awesome as Troy would.

* * *

Shirley leaves around five in the morning. _I have to go home,_ she tells them, _to my boys. I'm going to come back, but I have to be home right now. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

Annie spits out something hurt and hateful. Face tear-streaked and flushed. Shirley looks like she's crying when she rushes out the doors.

_That wasn't very nice, Annie,_ Britta says.

_Pierce is dead,_ Annie says. _Pierce is dead. Jeff and Troy might be dead too. And she's just leaving._

Annie is getting hysterical again. It's been coming in waves, since Dr. Penn broke the news. No one else a the hospital seems to be brave enough to sit anywhere near the remaining three of them. Abed's head hurts.

_What else is she supposed to do?_ Britta asks.

_I don't know,_ Annie shouts. _Anything but leave. Anything but that._

* * *

Abed moves to sit on the floor. He's mentally designing an epic voice simulator, in case Troy can't talk when he gets out of surgery. He thinks Troy would like to have a myriad of different voices to work with, like Gonzo or Kurt Russell or Barack Obama. It would look clunky, and be pretty visible, but it would work.

It would work.

* * *

Somewhere around seven in the morning, Abed decides that this cannot possibly be the Prime Timeline. In the best and brightest timeline, Abed is intelligent enough, quick enough to grab the die midair, aware enough to not let Jeff roll a number. In the best and brightest timeline, Abed knows what to do to prevent disaster. In the best and brightest timeline, Abed doesn't need to fix anything, because nothing gets broken.

In the darkest and most terrible timeline, Abed isn’t smart enough. Isn’t fast enough. Isn't good enough at playing his role to save his friends.

In this timeline, Abed lets the die hit the table. In this timeline, he fails.

* * *

And at eight thirty in the morning, a different doctor comes to them. He finds them broken and ruined and lost, when he tells them that their friends pulled through, narrowly. He tells them that Mr. Winger's injuries were too severe, and the whole arm had to be removed. He tells them that Mr. Barnes suffered extreme damage to his pharynx and larynx; only the former could be salvaged. Both of their lungs, as well, will struggle in the coming months to recover from the smoke inhalation.

In Abed's head, _prosthetic arm_ and _voice box_ move up a few notches in priority.

_But they pulled through,_ the doctor tells them. _The healing process will be difficult, but I believe they can manage it with your support. You must be very good friends, indeed, to wait all night like this._

_Can we see them?_ Britta asks, voice shaky.

The doctor gives her an uncertain look.

_They don't have any family but us._

* * *

Abed stares down at Troy, asleep in his hospital bed. Throat bandaged. Wrapped in his white hospital gown. The steady beeping of the heart monitor is the only sound in the deathly still room; Annie and Britta are visiting Jeff, first. Abed has a moment alone.

Slowly, carefully, he turns Troy's hand over, and twines their fingers together.

He grips Troy's limp hand for _one, two, three, four, five,_ carefully counting in his head. And then he lets go. Drops the skin-to-skin contact, and folds his hands in his lap. Breathes.

"I have a plan," he says quietly. "It's going to be difficult, and will require us to sacrifice some important aspects of our characters, such as any innocence, childishness, and remaining queasiness over violence, but it will be worth it. This is the Darkest Timeline, but I have a plan. I'm going to fix this."

Troy is silent.

"I did this," Abed tells him, as cold determination settles in his chest. "And now I'm going to _undo_ it."

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first thing i've written solely in abed's pov! i hope i did a good job, this was very fun to write. leave a comment if you enjoyed !! <3


End file.
